


Let Me Give You My Life

by Fightyourdragon



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Submission, matchmaker Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fightyourdragon/pseuds/Fightyourdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond clenches his fists and aches, thinking of fingers carding through his hair and the comforting warmth of a thigh to lean against as M made calls or worked at her computer while allowing him to simply kneel by her side and decompress. Of the way the tension drained from him as he worked quietly at shining her shoes, or painting her toenails. How can he ask this man he barely knows for things like that? He can’t risk the need being misinterpreted as something shameful, something deviant and sexual, when it’s nothing of the sort. </p><p>Bond needs a new anchor, but with Mallory he finds much more than that. A story of two old soldiers finding love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Give You My Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hedwig_Dordt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedwig_Dordt/gifts).



> This is a birthday fic for the platonic love of my life, Hedwig_Dordt, because she deserves all the happy-making things in the world! All the thanks to Alyacta and dr_girlfriend for their beta work on this- they made all the difference, let me tell you. Thanks so much!

_No masters or kings when the ritual begins_

_There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin_

_In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene_

_Only then I am human_

_Only then I am clean_

_Take me to church_

_I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies_

_I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife_

_Offer me that deathless death_

_Good God, let me give you my life._

_-Hozier, ‘Take Me To Church’_

 

Bond strides through the halls of MI6 towards Mallory’s office, gritting his teeth as ordinary employees and agents alike suddenly find better places to be when they see him coming. Despite his attempt at a collected facade, he must look as on-edge as he feels. By all accounts, he should be fine. The mission was a success, and no one had died but the target. Still, nothing had felt right about it without M, _his_ M, watching over him. No matter what he voices aloud, Mallory isn’t M in his mind. She hadn’t always been terribly involved in his missions, but she had always checked in at least once. It kept him grounded, reminded him of what he was working for. Q’s voice was a soothing lilt in his ear, but it wasn’t the same. 

It might be a brave new world, but he hasn’t yet sorted out how he fits into it. Maybe he doesn’t, or can’t, but there’s nothing for it now. As long as his country needs him, this is where he’ll be. It’s what _she’d_ wanted, after all. Her final words echo in his mind again. _I did get one thing right._

He stops outside of Moneypenny’s office and takes a few deep breaths as he tries to arrange his features into a recognizably confident smirk. He isn’t sure how he’s going to come back to himself without her to guide him. He doesn’t think Mallory will be able to understand what he needs, and he’s damn sure he’s not going to ask for it. Can’t risk the look of confusion or, worse, disgust. 

He clenches his fists and aches, thinking of fingers carding through his hair and the comforting warmth of a thigh to lean against as M made calls or worked at her computer while allowing him to simply kneel by her side and decompress. Of the way the tension drained from him as he worked quietly at shining her shoes, or painting her toenails. How can he ask this man he barely knows for things like that? He can’t risk the need being misinterpreted as something shameful, something deviant and sexual, when it’s nothing of the sort. 

Steeling himself, he steps into the office. “Moneypenny! You’re looking well. Red suits you,” he adds suggestively. It’s merely a reflex. 

She simply rolls her eyes. “Sorry love, you were gone too long. I’m afraid I’m taken now.” 

“Lucky man,” he comments sincerely. “Or woman. Not an agent, I hope.” 

“ _He’s_ in I-T,” she replies. “Q set us up. He’s something of a matchmaker, it seems.”

“Well, good. You deserve more attention than an agent has to offer. Mallory ready for me?” 

“Go on in. Maybe I should ask Q to find someone for you as well,” she adds with a wink. 

“There’s no one for me,” he counters before stepping into the other office. 

“Ah, Bond! Welcome back,” Mallory says warmly as he stands and reaches over his desk to shake hands. “So, how was your first mission under new management? Your new handlers working out?” he asks as he sits down. 

“They’re competent enough, yes. Your new Q is a bit green, but he’ll turn out fine.” Bond takes a seat as well, his hand twitching towards the gun he’s allowed to carry at all times. His instinct is to lay it on the desk, to offer it as a symbol of his life as he’s done for so many years. M had always embodied England, for him. In many ways, she _was_ his Queen and Country. While Mallory has yet to achieve that level of trust and respect, the instinct remains. 

“Good, that’s good. He has a lot to live up to, but I’m trusting my predecessor’s judgment. Apparently she knew what she was doing when it came to hiring,” he says significantly. “I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. It may be a young man’s game, but it seems the world is still in need of a few experienced old soldiers.” He rubs absently at his recent bullet wound. 

"Almost healed? At least the sling is off," he comments uncertainly. Mallory doesn't seem to be one for small talk, so what does he want?

Mallory waves his hand dismissively. "What's another scar at this point? Retired army. Not that you’d find my records if you checked. Well, maybe _you_ could, if you bribed Q to help.”

He simply raises his brows and gives Mallory a ‘what’s your point’ look. He’s not certain if the man is looking for praise, or wants to be asked for specifics. He just knows he’s feeling too tired and on-edge to enjoy playing the game of figuring it out. He misses the M he knows. 

Mallory sighs and leans back in his chair, his entire demeanor shifting to one that is just as exhausted and uncertain as Bond himself. “Damn, I’m making a mess of this. You know, she told me just to be honest because you could smell bullshit a mile away, so there was no point in pretending to be someone I’m not around you. Everyone else, yes. But never you. It’s why you were the only one who got to call her a bitch, she said, because you knew what you were talking about.” He laughs nervously. “And aside from a comment that I should get used to considering this a shared office, that was all. She said she’d tell me everything else I needed to know before she left, but…”

He experiences a rare moment of genuine surprise. He’d expected Mallory to be strictly professional, and a bit of an arse about his new position. It’s reassuring to know he’s at least willing to be honest about things. “Right. So you’re trying to figure out how to handle double-oh agents, or me specifically?” 

“Oh, the rest of them are fine. Standard issue killing machines I can handle. But you’re different, aren’t you? You’ve outlasted a dozen agents on missions more dangerous than any of theirs. You adapt. You survive. There’s a reason for that, and _she_ had to be a large part of why that is, and I don’t want to be the one to cock it all up and cost the country its best agent. Whatever it was, it must’ve had to do with how much you trusted her. Hell, you came back to her even when she had you shot off the roof of a bloody train. I only mention the army thing because I don’t want you to think I’m just a useless paper pusher. So you know I’m worthy of this position at all.”

Bond studies the man for a moment, gauging his sincerity and finding it to be honest before he replies. “You ran towards the gunfire and not away. You were shot protecting her. You let Q break the rules to help us. I’d say you’ve proved at least that much.” 

Mallory’s relief is obvious. “So we can agree on mutual respect at this point, at least. But I’d like for us to trust each other as well, and right now you’re still looking at me as if I may be concealing an armed exploding pen. I’m guessing if I ask you what you really need from me, you won’t tell me.” 

“That’s going to take some time,” he admits, but he’s feeling more hopeful than he thought possible a few hours ago. 

“Well, no time like the present. You can fill out your paperwork here, and we can get Tanner to bring us something for dinner. We can exchange stories of things that absolutely did not happen while serving Queen and Country,” he smirks. “I’ve nowhere I need to be right now. You?” 

He’s genuinely caught off-guard by the offer, so he answers honestly without thinking. Which is rather shocking in itself.. “I...not really, no. Why Tanner?” 

Mallory grins. “Well, if _you’re_ willing to risk your life asking Moneypenny to do anything that even approximates ‘go make me a sandwich,’ be my guest. I’m certain she’s got a few concealed weapons beneath that dress, though I’ve no idea how she’s managing it with that cut. No, Tanner is much safer.” 

He laughs, and nods his agreement. He’d no idea Mallory had a sense of humor. For once, he’s pleased to be wrong. 

By the time he finally leaves the building and heads to his hotel, he’s feeling less post-mission tension despite the fact that all they did was spend a few hours talking while on opposite sides of the desk. Mallory- no, _Gareth when it’s just us_ \- is surprisingly...interesting. Nothing like the mindless bureaucrat he’d feared, and refreshingly informal without an audience. Gareth is, aside from the way he manages to command attention, very little like the M Bond had grown to love... but he no longer thinks that's necessarily a bad thing. She _definitely_ hadn’t possessed Gareth’s quirky sense of humor. M would never have asked Tanner to run back to the cafeteria three times with a completely straight face, before finally laughing and saying the first fork was fine, he just wanted to see how long it would take Tanner to actually look frustrated. As he takes the elevator to the top floor of the hotel, Bond realizes he’s still smiling.

He isn’t sent back out again for a week, but there’s plenty at MI6 to keep him busy. The reconstruction is still in process, and both Q and Mallory consult him regarding their ideas for streamlining security and changing the organization of the building. Q enjoys the new basement area and wants to move his people there permanently, which leaves extra space up in the main building. Mallory wants to add more training spaces for the agents in the vacated area. Bond’s been recruited to help with input for the training area, and enjoys bothering Q by giving input on security. Then there are the new agents themselves, who Mallory has decided Bond will now help train. Well, it’s something to do, and showing the cocky newbies up is always a good way to spend an afternoon. 

The activity helps, but he’s still feeling tense and mentally off. Maybe it’s all the changes. Maybe it’s the fact that his throat still tightens when he thinks of M, or that he’s still living in a hotel- though that part’s nothing new. Mostly, he just feels at loose ends, like he’s not grounded. M was always his rock. She knew what he needed so he didn’t have to ask for it. Now he needs, but he can’t ask, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. 

He’s not sure if spending so much time with Gareth is helping or making things worse. Possibly the very fact he’s thinking Gareth and not Mallory is an answer in itself. Even when he doesn’t seek the man out, which he does every evening but that’s _only_ because Gareth invites him and wants to discuss the new agents and ideas for improving things, Gareth manages to just...be there. When Bond’s teaching hand-to-hand combat, or discussing security plans with Q, or discussing flat-searching with Moneypenny. Still, it manages not to feel overbearing or intrusive. It simply feels...satisfying. 

The evening before Bond leaves on his next assignment, Gareth briefs him over takeout Indian food. They’ve shoved the papers out of the way to use the desk as a table, and after he drops a bit on the floor from leaning over too far since his knees hit the side Gareth tells him to just bring the chair around. Which is how he finds himself eating Massaman Curry while their knees bump together. It’s the first time they’ve touched aside from a handshake, and he’s unprepared for the little flip of his stomach and jolt of arousal it elicits. He’d never felt _that_ around M. In the longest time, he hasn’t felt it around _anyone_.

“...and then the Major just walked out, saying he didn’t have time to write this shit up. So there we were, stuck taking down the biggest box fort in history so they could get the plane out of the hangar,” Gareth laughs, his eyes bright as the wrinkles at the corners crinkle. 

By all accounts, he considers, the man isn’t even terribly attractive. Gareth is balding and a bit soft around the middle, but there’s something magnetic about him. Something about his eyes, the way he carries himself with an easy sort of authority. After only a week really getting to know him, Bond finds he wants to know more. And all of their growing ease around each other has only served to intensify his desire for something more. He wonders what Gareth’s hands would feel like in his hair, what the man would do if he knelt at his feet. He digs his fingers into his thigh at the idea, because it brings back the ache of longing that he’s been trying to bury all week.

“I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” Gareth questions. “Damn, it’s late. I should let you get some sleep before you leave tomorrow. Q has given you everything you need, I trust?” 

“I got a gun, a radio, _and_ a long-range listening device along with a few bugs, so I suppose I ought to count my blessings,” he grins, shaking off the encroaching empty feeling. “And a stern lecture not to ruin his shiny new toys.” 

“Don’t go terrorizing him into quitting now! He’ll be the best quartermaster this organization has ever known once he has time to settle into the position. Even if he _is_ too young to remember The Beatles,” Gareth replies ruefully. “Christ but we’re old, aren’t we?” 

“I prefer ‘ _perfectly aged_ ,’ like a good Scotch,” Bond counters as he gets up. 

Gareth stands as well. For a moment he stands there as if he’s uncertain what to do, and his eyes flick down to Bond’s mouth and then back up to his eyes before he simply holds out his hand. “Good luck, 007. Do you need anything else from me?” 

He shakes the offered hand firmly, thinking, _you’ve no idea._ “M always checked in on me,” he hedges before he loses his nerve, because can he _sound_ any more needy?

“I’ll be sure to do that, then,” Gareth promises, before seeming to realize they’re still holding hands and letting go sheepishly. 

He nods and strides out the door before he does something stupid like be honest with the man. 

The mission is, to use one word, fucked. Anything that can go wrong, does. From missing a flight due to a storm, to shitty intel that leads to him losing a key asset, to an explosion that results in four civilian casualties, to getting captured and interrogated _again_ and seriously, that shit is getting _old._ He escapes within a week and they don’t even torture him much, but still. He can’t even blame Q, because Bond had destroyed his radio and comm links to ‘prove’ he was defecting. It was a split-second decision to go his own way despite his handler’s suggestion. In his defence, he isn’t accustomed to his handler being quite so brilliant, and he has trust issues. It was not, possibly, his best laid plan. 

Admittedly, half of his irritation is that he’d only been able to speak with Gareth during the first week before said destruction of property. He supposes he could’ve picked up a mobile phone, but he was in a mood to indulge in his misery. True to his word, Gareth had checked in daily, and just like with M hearing his voice was somehow grounding. At the same time, it was different. With Mallory, he didn’t want to end the connection. He wanted to keep talking, and it didn’t really matter about what. He caught himself checking his earpiece to be sure it was functioning, so he wouldn’t miss a check-in. He’s glad he was alone, because he’s sure he looked like a complete idiot, being so pleased for a few minutes of conversation. 

By the time he storms back into MI6 nearly three weeks after he left, mission finally successfully completed, he is barely holding himself together. As per usual, he hadn’t bothered calling ahead. The hallways clear again as he stomps down to Q-branch to return the only surviving bit of equipment. Well, _a_ surviving bit of equipment, even if it is a stolen prototype from the arms dealer he’d taken out and not _quite_ the gun Q sent him off with. 

Q looks up in surprise from his computer desk when Bond strides in without knocking and slams the door behind himself. “Ah, 007. Lovely to see you as always. You realize everyone else knocks, though-” he pauses mid-chastisement when he really gets a look at Bond. “You look like you’re about to collapse. Come sit before you pass out, since you obviously didn’t stop by Medical on your way here, you stubborn arse.” He gets up and guides Bond over to flop onto his sofa, and then hovers uncertainly for a moment before electing to just sit down on the coffee table so their knees are nearly touching. “Considering the state of you, I suppose the equipment is a lost cause,” he says in a tone that implies he’s trying to lighten the mood. 

He’s come this far almost on autopilot, and now he doesn’t know what to do. He’s exhausted, and bruised, and he’s held it together for so long that he doesn’t know if he can keep it up. Whenever he’d felt like this before, he’d always gone straight to M and she’d known what he needed. But she isn’t here, and he doesn’t want to risk going to Gareth and ruining whatever relationship they’ve created. Q is here. If Q rejects him, it won’t be nearly as painful. And there’s something about the way Q radiates control that is undeniably appealing. Slowly, he reaches into his suit coat and pulls out the gun. He offers it on his open palms, head down as he slides off the sofa and onto his knees. Then he holds his breath, tries not to tremble visibly, and hopes. 

Q has to scoot back and spread his legs to make room for Bond, and he sucks in a breath of surprise. For a moment neither of them moves or makes a sound, and then Q murmurs a soft, “Oh…” as if a realization he’s been struggling towards has finally dawned on him. He takes the gun carefully and then sets it on the table next to him. “Thank you, James, it’s wonderful. You did very well,” he praises as he reaches a hand out to run it through Bond’s hair and down the back of his neck. 

Bond breathes out a ragged, tension-filled breath and lets himself relax and kneel down fully. He shifts so he can rest his side against Q’s calf and lets his head drop to lean on Q’s inner thigh. He closes his eyes, and because he’s too tired to hold everything in any longer, he stops pretending. He doesn’t cry--he rarely cries-- but his body still goes through the motions of shaking and curling in on itself and taking gulping, wracking breaths. He’s only barely aware of his surroundings, simply focuses on Q’s soft, stroking hands and his low voice whispering that he’s okay, that he did a good job, that this is fine. At some point the thinks the door opens, but it closes again before long and he decides not to worry because this is Q’s world, and Q will take care of things. 

When he slowly comes back to himself, he is lying on the sofa with his head on a throw pillow in Q’s lap. His suit coat is thrown over his torso like a blanket, and Q’s hand is still absently stroking his hair while reading some sort of technical manual. He feels much better, though he struggles not to feel embarrassed for his breakdown. He stretches and blinks up at Q, trying to push down a tendril of nerves. Q doesn’t _seem_ uncomfortable or irritated, so hopefully he hasn’t freaked the man out completely. 

“Ah, there you are. I wasn’t certain how long it takes you to come back to the surface after a drop like that. It’s my job to see that you’re taken care of, and I should’ve realized what you needed before you got to this point, so my apologies. Though really, it’s also your job to ask,” he chides gently. “Don’t move yet. I’ll make you tea and you will sit here and drink it and eat some biscuits, and then we’re going to have an actual conversation about this so don’t think you’re running off and pretending this never happened,” he says in a tone that manages to be stern yet kind at the same time. 

“You’re taking this awfully well,” Bond begins cautiously. “And why the special service? I _can_ make my own tea.” He watches Q busying himself with an electric kettle and a box of biscuits. 

Q gives him an unimpressed look. “You cannot possibly tell me you’re unfamiliar with the concept of aftercare.” 

“Aftercare? This wasn’t a sexual encounter, Q.” 

“What does that have to do with anything? You still went through a highly emotional experience involving what appeared to be an anxiety attack followed by sub drop. You need _all_ the aftercare. Arse. Surely _she_ didn’t just leave you when you got like this,” Q states significantly.

He feels another rush of uncertainty. He’s never talked about this with anyone. Not even M herself, really. “She never left me at all. She waited until I was ready to leave. I don’t think she even knew the term ‘aftercare.’ It was just...how we were. How did you know?”

“Well I knew there had to be _something_ special about your relationship. I knew you spent hours in her office. That you trusted each other implicitly. That, considering your psych evals and the way you interacted, it was nothing sexual. But if you’ve been grieving for her, and without your outlet for stress release, it’s no wonder you’re rather coming apart at the seams right now.”

“You seem rather calm about all of this,” he states, relaxing slightly since Q isn’t reacting with any sort of disgust or condemnation. 

“Well, let’s just say I’m...familiar with the concept of this sort of relationship dynamic. This isn’t about me, though. This is about you, and making sure your needs are met. Now I know what you need, but I suspect you don’t want it from me, do you?” Q brings a cup of tea over with some biscuits on a saucer and waits for Bond to sit up before setting it on the table. He sits next to him, a casual distance away as though sensing Bond doesn’t need so much physical contact. 

He decides to hell with it, there’s no point in lying. “No. But I’m not sure the person I want is interested.” 

“Oh, I think you may be wrong there. I’m excellent at noticing compatibilities and interest, though I wouldn’t even _need_ to be since you and Mallory have longing glances down to a science. Plus, Mallory has been positively losing it since you went off the grid. And if we’re going with like recognizes like, I think he would be more than willing to be your…” he pauses for a moment as if struggling for the right word, “...person. The problem is that you’re both rather crap at asking for what you want. Luckily for you, I’m here to help.” Q hands Bond a biscuit and stares intently until the first bite is taken. 

“And how do you plan to do that?” he asks as he dutifully eats his biscuit. Once he tastes it, he realizes how hungry he actually is. 

“Well, I’m not sure how you two would do in a room while attempting to discuss your feelings for the first time, so I propose I ask him down here for a talk and bug my office. You can listen in, and then you’ll definitely have something to talk about,” Q says with a sly smile worthy of a double-oh. 

“Suddenly I feel a new sense of confidence in you as Quartermaster. I’m not certain he’d approve of the tactic, though.” 

“He’ll approve of the results, which is all I’m concerned with,” Q replies airily. “That’s a plan for tomorrow, however. Tonight, you’re coming home with me because Mallory will never forgive me if you’re not here and in relatively good condition tomorrow, as he poked his head in a few hours ago and he knows I’m taking responsibility for you tonight. I texted him and promised I’d take care of you. I’ll let you sleep on my sofa if you want.” 

“Shit. I vaguely remember the door opening. That was him?” 

“Mmmh, yes. It’s a good thing, really, as a segue into the conversation I want to have with him. So, home? You seriously need a shower.” 

 

Bond finds he doesn’t have the energy to argue. 

The following morning finds Bond pacing in his rarely-used office, which is really just a room with a desk and a chair in it, as well as a disused laptop. At least it has a nice view. He stops to stare down at the traffic, earwig in place, as he waits for Mallory to arrive in Q’s freshly bugged office. He’s feeling better today, despite his nerves regarding the inevitable conversation once Mallory learns he’s been listening in. At least things will be out in the open, which is always a good thing. Bond has plenty of secrets and subterfuge in his life as it is. And it had been surprisingly nice, spending time with someone who understands what he and M had together. Someone who didn’t frown upon it. He has a renewed respect for Q, that’s for certain. 

He sits in his chair and swivels it back and forth as he hears Q’s door open. 

_“Ah, Mallory, right on time. Do you want any tea?” Q asks, his voice its usual timbre of lilting confidence._

_“Do I want-? I don’t want any sodding tea, Q, I want to know if he’s okay!” Mallory replies in clear exasperation. “He didn’t look terribly okay yesterday.”_

_“That’s because he wasn’t. He’s a certain definition of okay for now, but he’s going to need your help to become anything approximating healthy. I’m afraid we rather failed to deduce his needs in time to prevent a bit of a meltdown, but I know how to fix that now.”_

_“It has to do with his relationship with_ his _M, doesn’t it?” Mallory guesses, sounding both relieved and mildly jealous._

_“Yes. What do you know about the dynamics of dom/sub relationships?” Q asks, his tone carefully neutral._

_“I- Oh._ Oh _, gods but I’m stupid. I should’ve known better than to simply assume he’d be strictly dominant. All of his evals and anecdotal evidence point towards a dominant personality, but factoring in the fierce loyalty and dedication to service...sorry, rambling. I’m quite familiar. My best friend in the army was- well, still is, in a healthy d/s relationship. He even let me attend his collaring ceremony. We’ve discussed it on many occasions, especially when he was new to it and looking for my support. Was it sexual, with her, do you think?”_

_“No, absolutely not. Not all d/s dynamics are sexual, and they’re definitely not all a 24/7 sort of relationship. I actually doubt if Bond has any real desire for a sexual relationship of that sort at all, it could quite easily be relegated to only this situation. With them, it was more to cement their bond. He didn’t say this, but I’m guessing that she was symbolic of England herself to him. He went to M after missions to decompress, to be...absolved from any of his perceived shortcomings. To feel taken care of. He said it was often as simple as kneeling in front of her and massaging her feet while she worked, once he’d settled back into himself. What you saw last night, that was simply him needing to know he’d done well, that it was okay not to be okay. Does that make sense?”_

_“A strange amount, really. So...he’ll be coming to you, now. For that.” Mallory’s tone is distinctly regretful._

_“I sincerely hope not. I knew what to do, since I’ve been in his position. But two submissives? That’s just bound to end poorly. And you’re a bigger idiot that I’d given you credit for if you don’t know who he wants. That would be you, by the way,” Q adds after a few moments of silence._

_“Is it just because of my position, do you think? Or does he really...you know.”_

_“Are you seriously telling me you can discuss dominance and submission with no problem, but you turn into a blushing teenager when you’re basically asking if the man has a crush on you?” Q’s voice is teasing._

_“I can fire you anytime,” Mallory points out, though his tone is light._

_“Empty threats will get you nowhere, Sir,” Q replies airily. “And yes, I think it’s safe to assume he’d like to push you up against that ridiculous padded office door and kiss you senseless. As I said, I think his submissive side is quite compartmentalized. Would that interest you?”_

_“It’s inappropriate. I’m his boss.”_

_“Seriously?” The eyebrow raise is clear in Q’s tone._

_“Fine! Yes, I want him. Seeing him kneeling there with your hands in his hair was hell. I didn’t even know what was going on, and I wanted to be in your position. Which is probably too soon, as I’ve only known him a short while. But all of that makes sense, because he’s bloody gorgeous, and strong, and interesting and I’m exactly the opposite. Why would he even be interested in me?”_

_“Are you finished?” Q asks, with an audible eye-roll. “Insecurity doesn’t become you. You’ll have to ask him what he sees in you, because I’m not even_ trying _to go there. Just trust me when I say that he gets the same ridiculous look on his face when he’s talking about you. And as an aside, my father proposed to my mum a week after they met, and they’ve been married thirty years. It’s only time, after all.”_

 _“So what do I do? I can’t just walk up to him and ask him to dinner. Beginning a relationship is so bloody complicated. I just want to_ be _in the relationship,” Mallory sighs._

_“So, just to summarize: You’re alright with working out a non-sexual, or sexual if you two want I suppose, dominant and submissive relationship when he needs it. And you would like a romantic relationship at the same time. Involving being pressed against your office door, if at all possible.” Q sounds like he is ticking off points on his fingertips._

_“Yes…” Mallory drawls cautiously, as if he’s becoming suspicious._

_“Someone should probably do something about the logistics of that door scenario,” Q says loudly._

_“Q, what the hell is going on?” Mallory growls._

_“Ah. Well. I would just like to point out that this has no doubt saved countless hours of pointless angst. And that all’s fair in love and war, which two old soldiers such as yourselves should definitely understand. Well, would you look at the time? I’m late to the testing of my newest prototype. Weapon. Thing.” Q’s voice is getting more distant. “I buggedmyofficeandBondislisteningbye!” The door slams shut. A few moments later, it slams again as Gareth follows._

Bond is out of his office and striding purposefully- definitely _not_ practically sprinting because that would be undignified- towards Gareth’s office so he can get there first. Bond’s heart is pounding in his ears and he’s not sure when he last felt this nervous, and excited, and alive. Gareth actually wants this, wants _him_. Sure there are plenty of things they need to talk about, but talking isn’t what he wants to do first. Talking can happen later. Preferably after an orgasm or three. 

“Urgent meeting. Mallory is on his way, I’ll just wait inside. See we’re not interrupted,” he commands as he breezes past Moneypenny. She simply nods seriously as she reaches for her mobile, probably waiting for some sort of terror alert to appear.

He leans against the desk and faces the door, waiting for it to open. It seems to take far longer than it should, and he’s vibrating with nervous energy by the time Gareth actually steps inside. 

For a moment they just stare at each other, and then Gareth opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something. He doesn’t wait to see what it is. Instead, he rushes forward and wraps one hand behind Gareth’s neck and another around his waist and kisses him. Just once, and not nearly as deeply as he wants, but he needs to be certain. 

Gareth immediately clutches at the material on the back of his Bond’s coat and leans forward to chase his mouth. “You _were_ listening,” he accuses lightly, staying close enough that their lips brush. 

He shrugs. “Spy,” he replies, running his tongue along the curve of Gareth’s answering smile.

“This is against the rules you know,” Gareth says, pulling Bond backwards until his back is against the door and then immediately sliding his hands up Bond’s chest to begin pushing his suit coat off. 

“It is,” he agrees, shrugging the rest of the way out of his coat and letting it drop. He grabs Gareth’s wrists and presses them above his head against the leather padding, and then rocks his hips forward until their trapped erections brush. “Should I stop?”

“You do and I’ll transfer you to the Falkland Islands,” Gareth growls, pushing his hips forward. 

He laughs, and almost doesn’t know what to do with the sudden rush of happiness so he lets Gareth’s hands go and cups his face, struggling to kiss the man properly because he’s smiling and it’s not working terribly well. He can’t even decide what he wants, aside from this, and he hasn’t felt like this in so very, very long. Never thought he would feel it again, really, and yet. 

“Oh hell, you’re not only gorgeous you’re adorable...fuck I’m in so much trouble,” Gareth observes before coaxing Bond into a slow, inviting kiss. 

_You’re not the only one_ , he thinks as he licks his way into Gareth’s mouth and everything shifts to soft, and languid, and perfect. The kissing is an unhurried exploration as they discover each other, and oh, he could do this, just this, for hours. Or he could adapt, he considers a short time later, as Gareth’s hands wander down to grab his arse and pull him in for some more effective friction. He slips his hands between them and begins undoing the buttons of his shirt. 

"Yes, good plan. Let me though," Gareth requests. "You can get mine."

"I'm guessing you have a change of clothes, in case of an all night stuck working situation, " he purrs in a low voice as he nibbles at Gareth's earlobe. He shivers as warm hands slide teasingly into his open shirt to caress his bare skin.

"I do. Why?" 

"Well I don't, so it makes sense for me to be naked so I can put these back on. But that means I can make a mess of _yours_ if I want...and I want." He sucks in a ragged breath as his shirt hits the floor and Gareth's short nails drag down his back.

"Anything you want," Gareth murmurs against the flushed skin of Bond's chest. “Your body is amazing...but that’s just a bonus. It’s really very little to do with why I want you. Just so you know.” He licks a path up Bond’s neck and kisses him again as his hands slide down to find the offending belt buckle and begin working it free.

“I suppose this is where I say, ‘why do you want me then?’, but I hate to be predictable,” he replies as he begins undoing Gareth’s belt as well. Actually, a large part of him really does want to know, but this seems a far less pathetically needy way to go about finding out. “As much as I enjoy this door, this is going to be far more difficult here than if we were to move to the sofa,” he points out before undoing the trouser button. 

“The sofa is leather, we’re just as likely to slide off and end up in a heap on the floor, but I suppose it’s the best we can do for now. And I’d love to tell you why I want you, but later, once I can think anything aside from how damn much I want to know what you look like when you come. We’re going to need more time.” Gareth walks Bond back carefully until they reach the desk, and reaches around Bond to grab his phone and push a button. 

He gives Gareth a questioning look, then shrugs and leans in to unbutton a few buttons and nip at the man’s collar bone. 

“Q?...Lock this room down...Yes we’re fine...Not yet, we’re working on it...I think it’s time for a building-wide bomb threat drill, don’t you?....Excellent, you’re in charge...I don’t give a shit what kind of fun you have with the new agents, just make sure it takes a few hours!” Gareth hangs up the phone. “So, sofa?” 

Bond is genuinely impressed. “You’re sexy when you’re being devious. I like it.” He pulls Gareth in for a kiss that is anything but gentle as they make their way over to the sofa at the far side of the room in a stumbling, tripping progression. By the time they get there, Bond has managed to kick off his trousers and is holding Gareth’s up so they don’t fall down and further hinder their progress. 

Gareth sits first, pulling Bond down on top of him. “Wait, shit, you’ve still got these on,” he objects, tugging at Bond’s navy briefs. 

He huffs and stands again, pulling them off and then tossing them at Gareth playfully. “Better?” He lifts one sock-covered foot up onto Gareth’s knee and swings his hips, causing his cock to bob in a manner that is really more silly than sexual. 

Gareth’s expression is a complicated one of desire and eye-rolling amusement. “Okay, possibly the socks should go as well but I don’t have the patience. Get down here you ridiculous man,” he laughs, grabbing Bond’s hand and tugging on it. “You’re sexy when you’re playful. I like it,” he encourages as Bond moves to straddle him on the sofa. 

He kneels up for long enough to tug Gareth’s trousers and pants down past his knees, which is a real feat while managing not to stop kissing him at the same time. He can’t even remember the last time sex was this.. _.fun._ He licks his palm and wraps it around Gareth’s erection, reveling at the full-body shudder and desperate sort of noise it elicits. He hisses and nips at Gareth’s lower lip when his own cock receives the same attention, and doesn’t even bother trying to keep his hips still to make things easier. 

“That’s it, just like that. Don’t hold anything back, James, let me feel how much you want this,” Gareth praises against Bond’s lips as he digs his free hand into Bond’s arse.

He feels his stomach do a little flip at the use of his name, and the fact that Gareth is enjoying this so much even though strictly speaking it’s not an ideal location and they’re both too unfamiliar to know what the other likes best. It’s mostly an awkward bumping of knuckles and falling out of rhythm, and their kisses have turned spit-slicked and messy, but somehow it’s still amazing. And not quite enough. 

He growls and reaches back to grab Gareth’s hand and pulls away long enough to suck two fingers into his mouth, smirking at the desperate look on, _fuck it, his lover’s,_ face. Then slowly, deliberately, he guides the fingers back down to slide between the cheeks of his arse. He hasn’t been fucked in years, but suddenly he wants it. Not now, but soon, and just the suggestion is enough to bring him that much closer to the edge. 

Gareth groans and tilts his head up for another kiss, the fingers teasing at Bond’s entrance confident and promising oh so many hours of future pleasure. Only a few minutes later Mallory is writhing and biting down hard on Bond’s shoulder as his orgasm turns him pliant and utterly, gorgeously wrecked. “Now you. Let me see you,” he pants once he’s caught his breath. He grips Bond’s arse firmly with both hands. 

“You want to watch me?” he intones in a low voice while spreading the mess further into Gareth’s shirt. It’s oddly gratifying. He scoots back far enough to give Gareth a better view before wrapping a hand around his own length. It’s too dry, so he considers for a moment before holding his hand up to Gareth’s mouth. 

Gareth sucks on each finger, his gaze heated, before licking slowly up Bond’s palm. “I want so many things, but for now I’ll settle with watching you make yourself come. Next time though, I want you in my mouth.” 

“I think that can be arranged,” Bond manages as he begins stroking himself hard and fast and just this side of uncomfortable, but he’s not in a mood to draw his orgasm out. Truthfully, it’s the awestruck look on Gareth’s face and the fingers kneading at his arse that have him coming all over Gareth’s already ruined shirt a short time later. He falls forward and rides out the trembling aftershocks while Gareth kisses him so gently it’s more of a sharing of breath than anything. 

“Promise me you don’t regret this,” Gareth sighs as he runs his fingers lightly up and down Bond’s sweat-slicked back. 

“Can I reassure you while lying down? My knees are killing me here,” he replies lightly as he unbuttons Gareth’s shirt and pulls it off so he can use it to clean them up. “What was that about being old?” 

“Not so old,” Gareth counters as he kicks off his trousers the rest of the way and shifts to lie down on the sofa. He tugs Bond down to lie mostly on top of him. 

“We seriously need a bed,” Bond snickers as they bump limbs awkwardly in an attempt to find a position that is comfortable and doesn’t put them at risk of tumbling onto the floor. 

“I hope that’s an invitation,” Gareth says as they finally manage to fit with Bond tucked in beneath his chin. He kisses Bond’s hair and begins stroking any bit of skin he can reach. 

“I live in a hotel, but you’re welcome anytime.” 

“Excellent. Then there’s nothing to prevent you from coming home with me. I make far better pancakes than room service does,” Gareth assures.

Bond’s heart speeds up and his stomach does another little flip at the idea of something so...domestic. So intimate. He’s surprised how badly he wants it. “Explain my motivation for going back to the hotel then,” he mumbles against Gareth’s neck, his tone light and joking in case he’s asking for too much too soon. Hell, he _knows_ he is, but he can’t help it. 

“If good food is all it takes I also make a mean butternut squash risotto,” Gareth states, a smile clear in his tone. “You’re more than welcome to stay with me. I understand if you decide you need your space and want to go back to the hotel though. I’ll still want you either way.” 

The very idea of a cold, empty hotel bed sounds awful at the moment. “The thing about this job is that it lends itself to plenty of space.” He licks at Gareth’s neck for a moment, savoring the tang of sweat. “I’ve never had pancakes to come home to,” he adds, mentally cringing because seriously, could he sound any more pathetically sappy?

“It’s settled then. Until you want the space, or I do, you can stay with me. Though I can’t imagine wanting the empty space when it could be filled with you,” Gareth replies before wrapping his limbs even more tightly around Bond and making an embarrassed noise into his hair. “That was a terrible line. I’m sorry, I just...you’re here, and we’ve just had sex in my office, and I’m rather unbelievably happy right now and I’ve no real filter.” 

“As long as you tell no one that I’m feeling just the same, we’re good. I do have a reputation to uphold,” he says seriously as he shimmies up to sneakily tickle Gareth’s sides and catch the resulting laugh in his own mouth. 

For at least an hour they don’t move from the sofa, they just lie there alternately kissing and petting and talking about everything and nothing. It’s surprisingly lacking in awkwardness, for all that they are naked and covered in drying sweat and remnants of flaking semen. Finally, they admit the sofa really is too uncomfortable to keep lying on any longer. 

“I have an idea,” Gareth says as he stands and picks up his fallen shirt to use it to wipe himself off a bit more. “Just let me know if you like it.” 

“Alright...” Bond drawls curiously. 

“Well we still need to get your post-mission report filled out. I propose I get dressed- just in case I need to leave to deal with the bomb threat drill- though I expect Q has that well in hand. Then, I pull up the report on the computer and ask you questions while I fill it out for you.” He watches Bond closely, noting the obvious tension in his stance at the very mention of the mission. He picks up his fallen clothing and piles them up next to his desk chair. “You can rest here and dictate, and I’ll take care of the rest. I don’t see any reason you need to be dressed...unless you want to be, of course.” 

The relief that floods through him is palpable, as he realizes what Gareth is offering. To kneel by his side, to just be, to explain his sins and his failings and let Gareth decide if he deserves punishment or praise. The idea is infinitely appealing. He struggles to think of an appropriate response, but in the end, “Thank you” is all he says. He waits on the sofa and watches Gareth get dressed, and there is something calming about it. It’s a slow shift into something new, and in some ways even more intimate than anything sexual. Once Gareth is dressed and seated, he holds out his hand and beckons for Bond to join him.

He walks over to Gareth and sinks down gratefully, if a bit uncertainly, because they’ve never done this before and he’s not so far gone that he’s functioning on autopilot. Still, he sighs and relaxes further when Gareth’s hand drops to begin carding through his hair. He leans his head against Gareth’s thigh. 

“I know we should talk about this, and tonight I promise we will. At length. There are probably a number of things you want or need that I’m unfamiliar with. So for now, we’ll just work on filling out this paperwork. I’ll ask you questions, and type your replies. Just remember, you accomplished the mission. You did a good job, and you should be proud of yourself. I know I’m proud of you,” Gareth praises. 

Bond closes his eyes and waits for the first question. He still feels a tendril of anxiety, thinking about everything that went wrong. But he also feels...safe. Yes, this is going to work. 

********************************** Six months later **************************************

Bond storms into the doors of MI6 and towards M’s office, and as per usual people in his path suddenly find better places to be. The real shit of it is, this should’ve been a simple mission. There was no real reason, aside from the cruel humor of the universe, for 002 to have been killed while on the plane ride home. Poison, with no available antidote. Bond himself had only been spared because he’d promised to keep his drinking to a minimum, and had refused the complimentary whiskey on the rocks. So he’d watched another agent die, and was powerless to prevent it. The fact that he’d caught the perpetrator and forced him to give up his boss is little consolation. 

Moneypenny simply nods and waves him into the office, accustomed at this point to Bond’s frequent comings and goings and tactfully unquestioning of the habit. 

He enters M’s- he thinks of Gareth as _his_ M now- office, and pauses for a moment to take in the scene. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, yet immediately calming. 

Gareth is seated at his desk in front of a pile of papers, and he looks up with a pleased expression when Bond walks in. Rather than saying anything, he simply nods in recognition and holds out his hand. 

Bond walks over, tension and guilt and sorrow roiling beneath his skin, and lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of the plain red cushion next to Gareth’s chair. He settles down onto it, sitting back on his heels and reaching into his suit coat to remove his gun. He holds it flat on his palm and offers his life up. 

“Thank you, 007. You’ve done very well to return this to me. I have plenty to do, so just let me know when you’re ready to fill out your paperwork,” Gareth intones calmly as he settles one hand into Bond’s hair and picks up a memo with the other. 

He feels like he needs to be doing something, so he opens the bottom desk drawer, which is his now, and takes out the small shoe shine kit. He shifts to sit cross-legged in front of Gareth, which means he is mostly beneath the desk and ducking his head to fit, but he finds he enjoys the small space. As he runs the black polish carefully over the shoes with a cloth, he settles into the grounding simplicity of the task. Of knowing that he’s doing something useful, something he’s good at, for someone important to him. They both work in silence, but it isn’t at all awkward or strained. Instead it feels intimate, and somehow sacred. Once he finishes, he puts the kit away and shifts back to kneel on the cushion. 

For an indeterminate amount of time, Bond simply breathes and rests his head against Gareth’s thigh. _She_ was always sparing in her praise, but Gareth is exactly the opposite. Rather than staying silent, Gareth now murmurs low affirmations as he pets Bond’s hair, and telling him he’s good, and makes England proud, and that Gareth is pleased with him. Bond kneels there and lets the words wash over him until he’s finally able to accept that even if he thinks he did a poor job and isn’t worthy of his position, is too old, too slow, too flawed, it doesn’t _matter._ What matters is that Gareth, the man he has given his life to do with as he pleases, is happy with him.

When Bond finally trusts his voice, he speaks. He explains about failing 002, and then all of his other perceived failures. It feels like a ritual, like confessing and waiting for absolution or condemnation. He’s prepared to accept either, but he doesn’t need to worry about which it is, because Gareth will tell him which he deserves. It’s wonderfully freeing. Once he has finished speaking, he waits patiently for the verdict. 

Gareth replies in a soothing, yet commanding tone. “I acknowledge that you made mistakes, and that in a few instances you could’ve used different judgment, but there is no way to know if acting differently would have ultimately changed the outcome. You made the best decisions you could at the time, with the information you had. I have considered what you told me, and have decided that you do not deserve any punishment for your actions. You completed the mission, and you returned to me. That was a job well done, 007.” He reaches down to gently tilt Bond’s head up so their eyes meet. “Do you accept my evaluation?” 

“Yes, sir,” Bond replies with a rush of relief. He isn’t feeling completely back to normal, that will take time, but he also knows that now he can get there. 

“Ready?” Gareth asks, his voice carefully neutral and implying he’ll accept any response. 

In reply, Bond gets up and then sits back down in Gareth’s lap to kiss him. Gently at first, and then with growing intensity. “Missed you,” he breathes into Gareth’s mouth.

“Missed you too,” Gareth replies, wrapping his arms more tightly around Bond. “We’re going to break the damn chair if we stay like this though,” he points out between kisses. 

“I _told_ you you need a different one. I’m sure Q could come up with something. Do you suppose if we asked, he would include a hidden compartment to store condoms and lube?” he muses thoughtfully. 

“Don’t even suggest it! He’d create some monstrosity that vibrates and has removable arms that convert to dildos or something,” Gareth groans. 

“Well I know what I’m getting you for your birthday now!” Bond says with a devilish grin. 

“You’re ridiculous. I love it.” Gareth leans in and kisses Bond in a way that expresses, I love _you._

“As you should,” Bond replies, his stomach doing a delicious little flip. He nibbles at Gareth’s ear and thinks, _I love you too_. They’ve never said it aloud, and possibly they won’t, but that doesn’t make it any less true. 

“As much as I’d love to get you naked, I have a meeting with the Prime Minister in an hour,” Gareth laments. “Why don’t we fill out your paperwork, and then you can go home. Your mission is to install the new tv onto the wall so that we don’t knock it over and smash this one too-”

“I _told_ you attempting to carry me to bed would be a disaster,” Bond interjects with a grin.

Gareth rolls his eyes and continues, “-so that tonight we can get naked and probably not actually watch a movie. Do you accept?” 

Bond grins. “With pleasure, M. With pleasure.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
